Hells Gate

     Unfortunately, for the greater good of everyone else's feelings, I cannot say what I truly want too. So I will not. Instead, I will drown my own in the bottom of a bottle, not say shit, (outloud) and hopefully explode.
      When going to war, it is best to pick your battles. Strategy is key. You must plan. Prepare. You cannot just charge into it with your shield down, dick in hand, showing your ass. There has to be an order to things. One man in charge, the others follow to the death. It has been that way for thousands of years, and will always be. I don't normally like following dumb motherfuckers off of a cliff, but there are times when I can't help myself. Loyalty. It's a weird deal.
    Sometimes shit gets twisted, people mistake passion for anger, or fucking as love, whatever the situation somehow it all gets to bed at the end of the night and everyone wakes up the next day feeling stupid. There will be alot of people feeling stupid today. It's just how it fucking goes, certainly not a reason to judge.
     When day to day battles turn into all out warfare, it takes its toll on the troops, my troops in particular are tired and hungry, the opposition, equally fatigued. Everyone wants to go home in one way or another, and just survive the bottom. The war is over, the battlegrounds bloody, wounds are deep, minds are numb. 'Head down, go to sleep to the rhythm of the war drums!'-Keenan.
    Somebody told me what I should and shouldn't write about yesterday, said that I 'sound angry all the time.' Maybe I do, but don't mistake the word 'motherfucker' as anger. It's all in the tone. (any dog can tell you that.) To me, if you didn't grow up in a house that used the word 'fucker' in one form or another, you lived in a weird house. Jesus christ my shirt stinks.
   

And if you don't want your picture taken, then don't strike the pose.

Fuck Passwords

It took me so long to get into this motherfucker I don't even wanna write shit anymore. I had something last week for everyone to read, and I could care fucking less if anyone see's it. This internet shit is a goddamn cesspool anyway. Like a dirty neighbor that always needs something. I think if people took five minutes of their fb time and turned it into 10 minutes of personal time, life would be better. For everyone. What the fuck is so important that you turn your back on people that you care about to check the goddamn internet. It's tearing us down as a society, it ruins relationships and condones cheating. It's narcissistic and weird. 'I just changed my profile picture!' Who gives a fuck, you look like the same psycho that you did 10 minutes ago. I was better off without this technology, these hosts of truths, gadgets of the devil (if there was one.)
I've recently turned my head into a hippie commune of sorts. All the voices have a job. One turns on the headphones, the other tells me to eat some food. Some of them tell me other crap. I sleep for awhile and wake up to the same old nonsense. If cancer came in the form of 3 a..m I would be riddled with it. If vodka didn't have a name, I would make one up for it. Had I stayed in school I would probably have a degree in 'bullshit rhetoric.'

Luckily this is gonna be short, and everyone can get back to ignoring everyone again. Peace.

Court Jester

If you've ever walked out of a grocery store thinking that you've lived the life of a fools fool, then please, continue reading this crap.
      Court Jesters died out in the 18th century, and yet I wonder  how am I still one? As it turns out they were smarter then the King, always entertaining, with 'music, juggling, clowning, and the telling of tales.' Smart motherfuckers that were just there to entertain the ones who were around them and demanded enertainment of some sort. Talented, colorful, and close to the bottom of the food chain, ( I suppose they were paid for their services, but still, regarded as assholes.)

     This picture of Stanzyk, one of the most famous jesters from 1514, (Poland) painted by Jan Matejko, really struck the proverbial chord. The depression, and just, shit feeling in his face from 'entertaining' people his whole life. I felt that way, walking out of the grocery store today. Like I was no more then a court jester when needed for entertainment, some sort of clown that's useless, but is not, because he has a purpose fucking somewhere. Maybe entertaining somebody, somewhere. Hopefully the guy died happier then that.

The recipe.

Man if I could sum up everything I'm feeling these days with a mash up of lyrics to certain songs, it would be the gayest thing that I ever did besides blogging about it..sorta like Jon Cryer, making a mix tape for Molly Ringwald. and with that fuckin hat he wore.
Anyhow, I'm a little stoked that the holidays have for the most part finally moved along. Gone on their proverbial 'merry way,' so to speak.. In light of this, and between a lot of food preparation, x-mas shopping, and making a pretty bad ass tree for my dogs, (complete with leftover halloween decorations,)  I have found the recipe that beats my party trays, christmas cookies, or even the occasionl bean casserole that I put the moves on, and have decided to share it with you:

 1 fifth vodka,
2 parts xanax,
4 bowls of greens with every family member
That's it, you don't have to toss anything. Just light it.

And my boy Brutus, we have recently become friends again. Not that we ever really stopped but we are starting to get the hang of some shit, and I couldn't be happier and neither could he..Hope everyone had a rad holiday, and enjoy that recipe.

Is that a fly in my soup?

Funny how when a fly lands all we want to do is kill the motherfucker. I have my flyswatters laying about, ready for any type of fly warfare. I'm prepared for a fly apocalypse. The common misconseption about flies is that they shit everytime they land. Not true. They actually vomit more then they shit. Another neat fact about flies is that a zip loc baggie filled with water hanging above a doorway will keep the little bastards out of your house, (you do however need to change it every 6 months, I know this because I do it.)
There's been alot of flies buzzing around lately and I happen to be showering more then normal so I know it's not me smelling like shit. So I figure it's other people smelling of it. I don't like people that smell like shit, or buzz my tower for that matter. If anyones gonna buzz my tower it will be me thank you very much.
After a well needed morning nap, I came downstairs, and barely poured a cocktail to sit down, and a fucking fly lands in my drink. Kind of reminded me of being out at a bar and seeing people that buzz by you that you reeeallly don't want to see, but they are nice enough to stop, say hello, and vomit in your drink so to speak. (or take a shit.) before you even get a chance too. Don't need it. Get the fuck off of my cloud, stop buzzing my tower, or whatever.

Back to the fly, this thing lands on the rim of my glass, and I assume it has shit...So I do what anyone would do, started cooking some bacon and googled this nonsense, it said that if a fly has indeed shit, it will leave a little brown spec, but more then likely it vomited. I found that interesting, and I also found a brown spec on rim. So the motherfucker DID shit. I killed him. Not proud of it, but it DID shit on something I cared about...The bacons done. peace.

Moon Fucking River

Alright. Mom called today out of the blue. Of course I had just got done roasting a bowl, so I was good and high. Perfect for 'mom time.' Poured a cocktail and kicked it on the patio catching up on our holiday business and other things. We're pretty good at going 3 months without a phone call or email and pick right up. It's nice.
Anyway, she knows I'm in the middle of this book that I've hit the fucking wall on AGAIN. and she says, 'do you have your notes? I have some trivia for your book.'..'Yeah, I have it right here."
She says, "I thought you might want to know that mine and your dads song was 'Moon River' by Andy Williams, from around 1967."  That was it.
( Kind of funny that she knows that I have to make a note of something so easy to remember, because she knows I pretty much don't remember shit. ever.)
So we went on about some other facts I needed to get straight, the funniest one was in 1967 my soon to be dad was rolling around on some Honda 50 (basically scooter status) to pick my mom up for dates. Thats funny because the motherfucker was 6 foot 5inches tall...a true gentleman, but to big for that bike none the less.
Fast forward I guess, they were divorced by the time I was 2, and dad graduated to a Honda 1000 touring bike, with the stereo and fairing and all that. Which he later died on in Big Sur. Ironically my mom is the one that had to call with the news and all that shit. (They had been divorced a good 20 years by then.) Not important right now, but what was cool is that she called to tell me that she was thinking about the song 'Moon River' today.
45 years later she still claims that love.
And now I can't get the damn song out of my head.  But at least I have my notes, and might be able to do a little writing again.
Sidenote: a friend of mine sent me something about not forcing shit. Man, you were right, and so was Old man Chuck.

 Mom and Dad and my usual scowl fresh from Hawaii in 1970.

toaster ovens, pork links, and some other bullshit.

My chick left my toaster oven unplugged again. I finally got down on some breakfast and my fucking toast isn't ready. Cooked some pork links and happened across the last two eggs in the fridge..and my toast is fucked. I've already been all over the yard with my flat shovel cleaning up after my dumb ass of a dog, gone to the grocery store to grab some stash for my apparently 'world famous' bean casserole. (which I forget how to make every year, and will continue to do so because I'm a confused old man, and Im still not sure how anyone even knows about it.)
It's funny finding yourself in your pants every morning, I suppose there will come a time when I will remember to lose them again, until then, I will keep on going to sleep in them, and in general probably look like an idiot trying to plug in my toaster oven in the morning.
I had a super good time this weekend with some old and new friends.  Everyone compared beards, toaster oven stories, and what type of shot is the best for afternoon drinking. We decided, every type of shot is pretty o.k...although I was forced towards some whiskey and almost fell off my barstool..(I did not.) Might have something to do with the 'session' on the train tracks..who knows.

I think that probably the funniest shit that happened all week was a having a drunken relative tell me over the phone that I use the 'fuck word' WAY too much and that I should go to church..I told him that, 'Im in church, just like you are you fucking idiot,'

This is the fellow that decided whiskey in the afternoon was a better decision. you all know him (the one on the left) he shall remain nameless but very photogenic.
And that's the end of it.
 I'm gonna pull the plug on an old man nap, be stoked that I got all my shit done, somehow made it thru the weekend, kick the dogs in the ass, and wake up bitching about the toaster oven. AND the dogshit on the front lawn.
-PK